What We Are
by Semebay
Summary: The government is hiding its prized immortal being from everyone. No one knows who it is, or if he even really exists. The government would like to keep it that way  full summary within. Rated M to be safe, feel free to dispute. . One of two chapters
1. Chapter 1

Title: What We Are  
>Genre: Supernatural<br>Rating/Warnings: I'm saying M just to be safe. Language, implied sex, implied violence. (If anyone would like to dispute the rating, go ahead)  
>Summary: The government is hiding its prized immortal being from everyone. No one knows who it is, or if he even really exists. Even the being in question doesn't know whether he's alone in the world, or just waiting. The government would like to keep it that way. However, you can only push someone so far before they rebel.<p>

* * *

><p><em>The British were coming.<em>

_It was an almost scary thought. Alfred grasped his hands tightly around his musket, the cold metal chilling him to the bone. The rain soaked through his clothes and the mud filled his shoes while he ran from house to house, sending out a warning to all who would listen._

"_They're coming!_

"_We have to fight now!_

"_Don't die!"_

_Alfred hated it. He hated sending people he knew into battle, people that would die before their enemy. He hated that he had to throw them to the British, but he knew he couldn't hope to win. He could let himself be found. They would try to kill him, and when he didn't die…_

_He didn't know what would happen._

"_Move!" a man roared before he barreled past Alfred, shoving him to the side. Alfred crashed into a group of tools that had been leaning against a house, and they all crashed to the ground. He jumped back when a door open and a woman looked out, but she shook her head and returned to the house when she saw him._

_Alfred could hear the shouts and screams from the battlefield. He walked forward and disentangled himself from the tools, and tried to run through the muck. He slipped and slid, and when he finally reached the edge of the town he tripped and grabbed onto a fence to keep himself upright. The rain came down harder and he could barely see the field before him, where the explosions of gunfire boomed and people died. He took his gun and it slipped in his hands. He caught it and tried to load it though he could barely see, and he could only feel pain and cold and-_

"We're here."

Alfred opened his eyes slowly. His neck was stiff, and he stared blearily at the back of the chair before him. His arms were crossed and his fingers dug into his skin. He probably had bruises, even though his jacket should have been thick enough to keep him from clenching too hard.

"Come on, man. They're unloading already, we gotta go."

Alfred shook his head and let his arms fall into his lap. It took him a moment to remember where he was, but one look out the tiny window to his left and down on the tarmac brought everything back. He had left the Middle East no more than twenty hours before, and had been brought to Switzerland for another of the vigorous meetings. He and twenty other men and women.

The man that had been sitting beside Alfred tossed a duffel bag at him from the overhead compartment. Alfred grunted when it hit his chest and knocked him back towards the wall.

"You coming yet?"

Alfred yawned and stood slowly, ducking down so that he wouldn't hit his head on the overhead. "I'm on it. Christ, do you ever shut up?"

The man didn't answer him. Once there was an opening in the aisle, he took it. Alfred cut in line behind him, getting ahead of some old woman and squeezing down the aisle while trying not to get caught on a seat or armrest.

Stepping out of the tunnel and into the airport was like being released from a prison. Everything was open and roomy, and had Alfred not been pushed along by his traveling partner, he probably would have paused to chat with some woman that was walking by (she had a nice ass, what could he say?).

"Pushing me around is totally uncool," Alfred told the man, and he shrugged.

"So what's your name, anyway?"

"William," Alfred chirped. He slung his duffel over his shoulder and looked at his companion. "You?"

"Clark." Clark led the way down the length of the airport. Alfred insisted on stopping once to grab a burger from one of the many shops in the terminal, but then they had to continue on and find their way out of the secure area and to the waiting buses.

It wasn't hard to find their way. Alfred pointed out a group of Americans that had gathered in a small bunch and Clark nodded his agreement. It was definitely their group.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen!" Clark interrupted their conversation. "You look like you're heading out into the city for a good time!"

"More like heading to a lame-ass meeting for old dudes," one boy said. Alfred looked at him. He was probably around seventeen years old, and the idea of it was rather surprising.

"I take offense to that!" a woman nearing fifty laughed, and the group (minus the boy) joined her.

"Well, we'll make this one fun," Clark said. He clapped a hand down onto Alfred's shoulder and grinned. "This is William, I'm Clark. Where the hell is the bus?"

* * *

><p>The groups were always diverse. Alfred looked around the bus, looking at the many people that had fallen asleep during the drive. The seventeen year old kid, the fifty year old businesswoman, various American soldiers of different rank and regiment, a few college-aged girls, one guy that looked like he ate <em>way<em> too much, and those were only the ones that Alfred could make out in the darkness.

Night had come while they drove, and for what was probably the millionth time in his life, Alfred was in the middle of a group of strangers. It was always unnerving, knowing that the people he was with would never know more than a name. They weren't allowed to know each other (except for their code names), weren't allowed to talk about anything serious. Weather was an acceptable topic; so were video games.

All of it was because the government wanted to hide one of "their" projects. They wanted to hide the one person that had seen everything, the one person that had been around since the ships had arrived in the new world and had seen history unfold. They gathered random groups of people that would definitely not meet in real life, groups of people that would be shipped together all over the world to attend meetings of national importance. Like hiding a tree in a forest, they hid a "human" with other humans.

Every country did the same thing. Every country had its own group, its own special "human" that it had to hide and keep safe. A meeting of ten countries would have over four-hundred people speaking. Every person had a secret ballot to voice their opinions on issues, and the only ones that worked and sent decisions were held by the people being hidden.

People like Alfred.

Alfred sighed and sat back in his seat. He didn't want to sleep. Sleep meant dreams, and dreams meant nightmares. How many wars had he been in? How many people had he killed, or seen die? How many times had he arrived to a group meeting to find that someone was suspiciously missing? How many times had he wondered if they had discovered his secret, or if they had been suspected of being special by an enemy and taken?

The groups were a waste of time. Alfred wished he could step forward and shout, tell everyone that _he_ was the special one, the one that everyone wanted to kill or worship. How many lives would he save doing so, because by then _he_ would be the target and not the people that were recruited in silence for the oh-so honorable position of being cannon fodder?

He couldn't tell anyone, because no one had acknowledged that those special beings existed. The countries danced around the idea, but no one wanted to openly speculate their existence. It was an unspoken truth: the first country to have an immortal being exposed would be attacked by others for designing human weapons. Divert attention and use another country as a scapegoat. It was how history had always been, and it was how the future would forever work.

Clark snorted in his sleep and Alfred looked over at him. He fidgeted and turned over in his seat.

The bus hit a bump and lurched to the side, and Clark's head dropped onto Alfred's shoulder. Alfred looked down at him, but he didn't push his head away.

Alfred wondered if Clark would live. Would he live long enough to get out of their stupid system, or would he die for something he didn't understand? Who would replace him when he either aged or died? Protocol and recruiters had made sure that every person was replaced with someone that looked just like them, to help make the guise more real. The only problem was that while the replacements all looked the same, they were different people. They had different voices, different ideas, different hopes and dreams. The government agency that ran the project liked to believe that their attempts to keep Alfred hidden by using similar-looking people around him at all times worked. In reality, while others didn't appear to notice the differences, Alfred saw every one.

It tore him apart, knowing that they would die before him, _for him._ He didn't want that.

The bus hit another bump and Clark fell into Alfred's lap. He jolted awake and looked groggily at Alfred. "S'ry," Clark mumbled before he pressed against the window to go back to sleep, and Alfred sank back into his seat.

Alfred shut his eyes. He should sleep. He always thought about the past and the possible future when he travelled between meetings, among the people that lived lies to hide him. It was easier when he slept, because he didn't have to think about it.

* * *

><p>Alfred slid his security card into the slot below the elevator buttons. The elevator rose up to the seventh floor and the doors opened. Alfred placed his security card in his pocket and held up his ID for the guards that waited outside the doors. They nodded him through and he walked to his room, where he used another card key to open the door.<p>

Security was always tight at the meetings. They didn't want to risk an international incident by letting strangers onto the floors reserved by important officials and the groups, where someone could get hurt. They also didn't want the members of those groups to mingle. Mingling meant that secrets could get out, and it meant that people could begin to make assumptions about what their purpose was. They didn't want them to speak between meetings, and the only times they actually met face-to-face without being monitored were when they were traveling between meetings and hotels, or from their respective homes or duties to the countries where the meetings would take place (and usually those trips would leave them too exhausted to even consider speaking with one another).

Alfred clicked the door shut behind him and tugged at his tie. He pulled it loose and tossed it on the table by the bathroom door. While the rooms were rather extravagant (central living room with separate bedroom for added privacy in case of visitors), the room service left much to be desired. It was easier (and safer) to run down the street to a bakery for edible food.

Alfred shoved the food he had left over from breakfast into the small fridge by the TV. He had four hours to blow before the first meeting of many began. He turned on the TV and flicked through channels to find something in English. When the only thing he found was a channel of soap operas, he turned back to the news. He hated translating. It always made his head hurt. Centuries of learning different languages didn't make using them any easier.

Alfred dropped back on the couch and took his watch off his wrist. He made sure the alarm was set before he sprawled out and stared at the screen.

* * *

><p><em>It wasn't supposed to be a military action. Not really.<em>

_Alfred leaned on a railing and looked out over the waters where The USS Maine burned. The explosion had rocked the city, and Alfred had known deep in his bones that things were changing too fast to stop them. _

_It scared him. He had seen war too many times. He had seen too many deaths, too much bloodshed. Another explosion shook him and he watched the smaller boats shuttling people away from the burning wreckage. He could do nothing but watch. He could see other men running along the shore, trying to find a way to get to survivors. _

_He wondered what the country would think. Would they go to war with Spain? They had come to Cuba with the intent of showing their military might, of seeing if they could somehow quell the fighting without getting involved. It hadn't worked. They had been attacked (most likely. There would probably be an investigation). People were dead. The Maine was sinking._

_It was never supposed to be this way._

_Alfred looked down, away from the flames. There was another small explosion, and Alfred could hear the rounds of ammunition in the ship as the heat set them off. _

"_Alfred."_

_Alfred looked up quickly to see the captain approaching. His face was drawn in pain, whether it was physical or emotional Alfred didn't know. _

"_You should get back inside. There's nothing you can do here."_

_Alfred tightened his hands around the railing before him. "I can do more than you."_

"_But we're not going to let you." The captain motioned around them, at the people that were running about in a panic trying to find some way to help. "We can't afford to let them know about you."_

"_So I have to sit inside like a little kid, wasting the power I have while people die?"_

"_There's nothing you can do," the captain repeated, and Alfred let go of the railing._

The beeping of Alfred's watch alerted him to the fact that he had dozed off. The news had ended and people were yelling at each other on the TV, something that reminded Alfred of the soap operas in his own country. He grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. He made sure he had his ID cards before he left his room. The other members of his group were waiting outside in the hall, and they acknowledged each other briefly before stepping into the elevator as a group and descending to the garage where they would be met by government cars.

The ride to the meeting center was done in silence. They were spread through five vehicles, and there was nothing to talk about. They each had their modified phones, which they would use to text decisions and comments to a central computer which would then present the text of the true representative to whatever group they were gathered with. Alfred ran his thumb along the black casing of his, smoothing the edges of a Superman sticker that had long started to warp and chip away from wear and tear.

Alfred was already thinking of what he would do later, when the first meeting was done and the groups were shepherded away from the groups from other countries. Alcohol was the first thing on his mind, followed closely by burgers and fries. He stared out the window at the old houses they passed, not really seeing them.

Maybe he would mix a milk shake with something. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be drunk or buzzed, if he wanted to remember another night where he tried to forget about life and death. He didn't know if he wanted to get trashed and wake up in his hotel room to the disgruntled faces of some secret service agents, or if he wanted to find himself beside someone, pretending that he was going to wake up and _not_ leave before whatever partner he had found himself with woke.

The car passed over a bump and jolted Alfred to attention. He raised his eyes to take in the large gates that the vehicles were passing through, and he put his phone in his pocket. He found the briefcase at his feet and took it with him when the car finally stopped and the door was opened by an attendant. Alfred's steps were confident, the same as every other person in the group as they merged into one unit and walked into the building together. They paid little attention to the other gatherings of people, hailing from countries around the world to keep up the illusion that there was a group of people that stood above the rest of humanity.

Alfred didn't even know if there _were_ other immortals. It wasn't as though he had ever met them (not that he would have ever gotten the chance). It was very likely that he had been found out _somehow_, and other nations had decided to step in and start rumors to try and deter whatever the US could be planning with him. Alfred wasn't sure whether he wanted to know if there were others like him; while it would be nice to meet someone and know that he wouldn't live long past them, it was also a lonely existence. He would never be allowed to meet another person like himself, as it would be as good as treason.

"The meeting is taking place in the main auditorium," one of their drivers read from a card. He remained sitting in the car and leaned out the window towards them. "Room 157."

Alfred nodded and fell in with his group. They made small talk, mostly about the weather and shows on television, then they walked through the towering double doors into a room that was already filled with groups from other nations.

* * *

><p><em>Immortality wasn't as awesome as people made it out to be. <em>

_Alfred had heard praises and promises since he had been born, the words of people that believed immortality was the last hope for the tribe he had found himself in. They had taken him from the mother that had died, found him in a dead colony and resurrected him. He had been their hope. They had placed their lives in his tiny hands, had believed that he could save them from the people that shared his skin. _

_It hadn't stopped the slaughter. Alfred had been left alone in the woods, a child (almost an infant) who could only wander and cry, searching for anyone to make him feel better, loved._

_He was found by a stranger, a man that saved him from the wilderness and gave him a home. He stayed with the man for three short years before a family took him in, and he grew with them, loved them._

_He lost them during the fighting. He lived, a hole through his heart and blood in his mouth, tasting death and returning from it. He survived the fighting, moved from place to place until he died again, only to be found by the government of the country he lived in._

_They took him, used him. He had become the "hope" for another group of people, except that they wanted him as a secret weapon. He was their tool, meant to hurt instead of protect, and they became his chain._

* * *

><p>Finding a bar <em>not<em> under the careful watch of the government was a chore, but Alfred had figured it out. Once the group members had been deposited back at the hotel, guards would set up watches around local bars and hang outs. Alcohol had led to many revealed secrets in the past, and no one was willing to risk another threat to national security.

So Alfred had been forced to find ways to get around without a babysitter. After almost three hundred years and various technological revolutions, he had it down to a "T." Cell phones were the greatest help. While the cell phones used by the group and its guards were heavily protected and encrypted, Alfred had managed to find a small scanner he could carry in his pocket. A quick pass by unsuspecting guards and pulled the info from their phones, which Alfred would upload to his computer. He would settle back while he watched tiny dots move around a digital map, the program working with cell towers to find where men were located as well as registering voice signals from ongoing calls.

Alfred's plans were an art that had been perfected over time, mostly because the security detail assigned to him was surprisingly lax and uninformed. Those that knew his secret assumed he had no idea how modern technology worked (beyond the allure of games on his cell phone); he was well almost three hundred years old, and old people didn't _do_ technology. While the government thought Alfred would shy away from technology, the reality was that he embraced it. He loved the newest video games, the newest contraption to make burgers with, the newest cell phones, and anything that would get him away from his ever-present guards.

Alfred stretched his arms above his head and groaned. There was a small bar right in the center of the city, hidden among some high class restaurants. Sadly there was no fast food joint nearby, but he could find one across town and sneak away from his guards when they looked away. It wasn't a terribly long run to the bar.

Alfred turned off his laptop and put it in the hotel's safe along with his phone (he didn't need to get caught with his own trick). He checked that he had his wallet before he left his room, and as soon as he walked down the hall and stepped into the elevator, he could tell that he was already being watched.

Alfred hailed a taxi as soon as he left the hotel. He had marked five guards at attention in the lobby, and two more in the black SUV that followed his taxi at a distance. The cabbie looked surprised at the request to go across town for a fast food restaurant (especially after he had just left a five-star hotel), but Alfred had just brushed it off as being homesick. Alfred kept his eyes ahead and joked with the cabbie, pretending that he wasn't watching the black SUV that followed behind them.

They arrived and Alfred pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He stuff the bills into the cabbie's hand and climbed out of the taxi quickly. He didn't want to give the guards following him too much extra time to get out of their SUV so that they could follow him inside.

Alfred didn't spare the taxi a glance when it drove away. He was already inside the restaurant and ordering. He looked around quickly to see how he would be able to get out, and decided on the bathrooms. He took his food to a table and at, pretending not to know who the men at the counter ordering were. He recognized them as guards he had met on many occasions before, and remembered that he had fooled them and escaped quite often when they were watching.

Alfred wasn't sure if them knowing about his tendency to disappear would help or hinder his escape attempts.

Alfred ate quickly and stretched his arms over his head. His guards didn't bat an eye when they saw him hurry to the bathroom, and Alfred internally cheered for his luck. It didn't take too much to push the window outward so that he could hop up and slip through the frame.

Then Alfred was home free.

It didn't take Alfred long to reach the bar. He was a fast runner, and the alleys weren't filled with government agents waiting to snatch up group members where they didn't belong. He grabbed the black railing that rose from the ground and followed the stairs that led below the ground and into the basement of an old office building.

Thankfully there were no neon lights on the walls.

That had been Alfred's greatest concern. He wanted a place where he could have a few drinks and let everything wash over him (as it had done time and time again). He wanted a place where he could decide whether he would think about life or not, a place where he could sit and listen to the clinking of glass and murmured conversation without worrying about watching his every move in case he caused a national emergency, or one of his guards decided that he had to leave with no explanation.

Alfred grabbed a booth in a corner for himself and waited for the waitress to wander over. It was a nice place. The wood was old and a deep brown (almost black), the lights were low and Alfred could've fallen asleep there. He asked for a beer when the waitress checked on him, then he let his eyes wander. The place probably wasn't very popular, but then again it was a Tuesday night. There were a couple full tables in the middle of the floor (both occupied only by men), and three booths where small groups of women chatted with each other. There was another booth in the opposite corner that was only occupied by one man, and Alfred would have wondered what his deal was if he hadn't been sitting alone himself.

The waitress returned and set Alfred's drink before him. He caught her wrist and grinned.

"Can I order my next five right now?"

The waitress shrugged with a small smile. "We'll see how you fare. I'll keep it in mind."

Alfred nodded to her as she left, and he pulled the glass of beer closer. He wondered why it wasn't a mug or something sturdier than a glass, but the rowdy crowd was probably a weekend thing. The employees probably didn't have a reason to worry about types of glasses on nights when barely anyone showed up.

"_There's a meeting in Switzerland. You won't be coming back."_

_Alfred remained at attention. The man behind the desk didn't spare him a glance. _

"_You fucked up," the man continued. He flipped through a folder. "They were just soldiers. What if someone had seen you? What if they found out about you?" He snorted. "You're lucky we got them away, otherwise we might've had to solve the problem ourselves."_

_Which meant the general would've shot his own men. Alfred shivered, but he kept his body from showing his discontent. He'd only had a second to decide to save them, a second to react to the IED and throw them back. He'd almost lost an arm, would've been killed if he had been mortal, but he had saved six men._

_Six men that the general was talking about killing. _

"_We can't use you anymore. Do you know how much trouble this puts us in? I knew you were stupid, but not _this_ stupid." The general shut the folder and stood. He rested his hands flat on his desk and his desk chair rolled a foot behind him. "You have duties that are far more important than the people here. You would do well to remember that." He grabbed the folder and threw it towards the other side of the desk. Alfred didn't move. "You're dead. We can't use you here anymore. There's an agent waiting outside to deal with you. You're done here. Dismissed."_

_Alfred took the folder and turned. He marched from the room where he was taken into the custody of a government super-goon. In no time at all they had shoved him into a small room where he was scrutinized. His hair was dyed blond instead of the brown it had been, and he was given glasses. He was on a plane within hours, fatigues traded for civilian clothes, another soldier sitting beside him and five government agents watching them from the back of the plane._

_Alfred was dead. Again._

_His death hit him less every time. When his deaths had first meant something in the eyes of his government and everything had to change whenever he lived through an accident, it was traumatic. He had panicked, cried, shut down. As time passed it affected him less, until he accepted his death and new beginning with a curt nod and silence._

_That didn't mean it didn't still hurt deep down._

* * *

><p>Alfred didn't know where the time had gone. He remembered-<p>

_Oh._

Alfred stared at the back of the head before him. The hair was deep red, and almost reminded him of blood in the low light. Alfred slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position and the bed sank beneath him when his weight centered on one spot. The sheets slipped around him and he leaned forward to rest his forehead on the palm of his hand.

It was a hotel room. Small, cramped, a queen-sized bed that probably saw more action in a week than Alfred saw in a year. The TV in the corner was a small thing, and Alfred could guess how expensive the room was. Probably a thirty-dollar-a-night deal with no mini-fridge and an icemaker down the hall.

Alfred sighed and looked away from the drab walls and down at the man still sleeping beside him. if he recalled correctly, the man had introduced himself as Edward before joining him in his booth, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Alfred had coughed, unused to the smoke (he had been forced to quit years before, when the anti-smoking movement began) and Edward had snubbed it out in a glass ashtray while frowning rather distastefully (his expression had been rather severe, if only because of the large eyebrows that accentuated the look). It had been pretty straight forward after that. A few drinks, an agreement to go back to someone's hotel room, renting another hotel room entirely because neither wanted to go back to theirs, a few rounds of sex that probably only felt amazing because it had been so long…

Alfred pulled the blanket up over him and hesitated. Did he pretend he had never woken? Would it be weird if Edward woke up in Alfred's arms, held against his chest as if they really had a relationship?

Could Alfred pretend they had something, pretend that he wasn't going to be alone for the rest of his life? It was a one night stand, they both knew and accepted that fact, but maybe Alfred could lie to himself for a little bit longer.

Against his better judgment, Alfred slowly lowered himself back down onto the bed and tried to make his position appear random, something he didn't think hard about. He slipped one arm over Edward's side and let the other rest above his own head.

A few more hours wouldn't kill him.

* * *

><p>"<em>How's it feel to watch history being made?"<em>

_Alfred didn't answer. He sat backwards in the dining chair, his arms crossed over the back and his chin resting on his arms. The man crawling about the face of Mount Rushmore bored him, truth be told. The government might be excited about their heroes being made into a monument, but their reasons for wanting Alfred to like it didn't make sense to him._

_The only reason they kept Alfred around and protected him so closely was because they forced him to become a part of their history. They didn't care about who he was, but what he was. They may have fooled him in the beginning, when they told him he was "special" (and they may have meant it then), but he had grown. He looked young, but he had lived far longer than any of them. He knew when he was being used, and he knew when he was stuck. They were always going to keep him on a tight leash, and they were always going to use him for whatever they wanted._

_Why should he care about them?_

* * *

><p>Alfred woke later to an empty bed and a note taped to his forehead.<p>

_No need to check out._

He almost laughed. Sometimes he forgot how young he looked, but it always hit him when people gave him advice and told him things he already knew. He crumpled the note and tossed it into the waste bin.

Alfred dressed quickly. The sun was rising and there would probably be repercussions for losing his guards. Not that it mattered. He had gotten what he wanted (and more). The most his government could do was give him a slap on the wrist.

* * *

><p>Alfred was significantly happier on the way to the next meeting. Clark didn't say anything, but it seemed obvious that he noticed. He would stare at Alfred until the look was returned, then he would turn away and pretend he hadn't looked at him. Alfred considered asking him about it, but letting it go was easier.<p>

Alfred slouched back in his seat when the meeting started. He kept his hand wrapped around the cell phone in his pocket and listened to the main speaker present his points. He listened to the options presented and typed his answer into the phone, and just as he sent it his phone started to vibrate.

Alfred pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced down. He slid it open silently and pressed a button to see the text message that had been sent.

_30 seats right. ditch cronies, meet at bar._

Alfred tried to keep his face blank when he glanced to the side, but it was hard when he found himself looking at a man in a business suit that looked a lot like the one that he had bedded the night before.

His phone vibrated again.

_Stop staring. see you later_

Alfred slipped his cell phone back into his pocket and ignored how one of the members of his group looked towards him. He kept his eyes on the speaker in front, but he was already trying to figure out what he had done.

Worst case scenario? He had had sex with a government agent (if it was a foreign government, he was in that much more trouble). Best case? It was a nobody that would forget everything and leave him be when they returned to whatever "lives" they had.

Alfred swallowed. He really hoped he hadn't fucked up too badly.

* * *

><p>Against his better judgment, Alfred snuck out again. His guards were angry after he had ditched him, but little had been done to prevent it from happening again. He had more people following him when he went to a local restaurant, and more of them stood outside the windows of the men's room. They obviously didn't think he would leave again, and they <em>knew<em> he wouldn't use the women's restroom.

He used the women's restroom. The only person in there was in a stall so he wasn't seen (and he didn't have to deal with screaming and armed guards bursting in). It was getting dark when he hurried down the alleys, and he knew he was being careless, but the more he thought about Edward the more curious he became. How the hell had Edward gotten his number? Alfred hadn't even known that Edward was attending meetings (as an actual group member), and the fact that Edward had identified him so quickly left him confused. Had Edward known before? Had their chance meeting been planned?

Alfred thumped down the stairs and into the bar. He looked around quickly, but there was no one of interest. It looked like the same group of men from the night before, as well as another man that had joined them. Alfred walked over to the booth he had chosen the night before, and the waitress walked by.

"Back again?" She tapped the table next to where he rested his arms. "Same thing as last time?"

Alfred nodded and she disappeared. He was starting to wonder if he had made a bigger mistake than he had thought, but in mere moments the seat across from him was occupied. Edward had a glass of beer before him, and he stared at Alfred. Alfred blinked, caught by surprise, and Edward took a sip of his beer.

"This is a good place." Edward set his glass down, and Alfred was struck by how he kept his eyes locked on him. "Maybe tonight we'll drink a little less. Might make the poor waitress a bit sad, but it'd be nice to keep our wits for after."

Alfred wanted to ask what "after" was, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know. His beer was placed before him and the waitress disappeared back around the corner where the bar was.

"I guess now we know why we didn't go to our own hotel rooms." Edward chuckled. "I've already taken care of one for tonight."

Alfred had been reaching for his own drink, but Edward's words made him stop. He arched an eyebrow. "Are you just really horny or something?"

Edward didn't look amused. "There's a lot more to do than sex when you're in a hotel room." When Alfred didn't look convinced, Edward sighed. "An _untapped_ hotel room."

Alfred understood. He fidgeted in his seat and took a drink to give himself some time to think. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to think. He had no idea who Edward was, no idea if it was some kind of trick. Sure, Edward had been at the meetings, and he had _belonged_ there.

Alfred just wasn't sure why Edward was there. Had he been a group member like Alfred, or was he part of security?

"Drink up." Edward didn't give Alfred time to continue his thoughts. "I don't want to stay here longer than necessary. We have things to do."

Alfred drank. He'd take the plunge. What did he have to lose?

* * *

><p>"I'm going to go out on a limb and say you planned our meeting last night." Alfred sat on the bed while Edward wandered around the room. It was a floor above the one they had had before, but it looked exactly the same. Edward sat down at the small desk by the window and removed his jacket.<p>

"No." Edward tossed his jacket towards the bed, and Alfred looked down at it when it landed beside him. "Purely chance. I didn't know about you until I saw you this morning." Edward turned his chair so that he faced Alfred, and he leaned forward. He placed the tips of his fingers together and flexed them. "So. Are you immortal?"

Alfred stopped breathing. He kicked his shoes off and slowly pulled his legs up on the bed. "Immortal?" He sucked in some air. He had to think of something to say, something that would throw him off. "Are you… I don't think I wanna be here."

"That doesn't answer my question." Edward let his hands drop in his lap. "I think we both know there's something wrong with our little… _assignments_. We both know there've been talks, and everyone has ideas. Every government wants their own secret to immortality, and what would make more sense? What other purpose could these little government gatherings have?"

"You're fucking crazy." Alfred shook his head. He wasn't sure if he should leave or stick around. It was possible he could change the topic, call Edward crazy and get his ass out. However, something about Edward made him want to stick around and see what would be said.

Edward sighed. "Well, we came here for more than a conversation. Would you like to..?"

Alfred nodded quickly and pulled at his shirt. Anything to change the conversation.

* * *

><p><em>Alfred's hands slipped on his musket. He tried to load it, but the mud made it impossible. His fingers slipped on the metal and he cursed. Dirt and mud were getting into everything, and he wasn't sure if it would even fire anymore.<em>

_People were shouting. The explosions were getting louder, closer, and Alfred pulled the bar from the barrel and slid it into its holder. He pulled back the hammer and tried to get a spark, but his shaking hands and the rain didn't help him at all._

_The mud squelched behind him and he turned quickly. He raised his musket in a panic when he faced the redcoats before him, but his hands let go before he could even try to intimidate them._

_Alfred felt cold when he sank facedown into the mud. He had never been shot before. He didn't feel anything, but there was an emptiness in him. He tried to move his hands but his body wouldn't listen to him._

_Cold hands, those of his killer, reached down to pull at him. He was turned onto his back and though his body couldn't move, he could still see._

"_His musket wasn't going to fire. You didn't have to shoot."_

"_Don't be stupid. We couldn't have known that when we came." The shooter checked his jacket. "Just a kid."_

"_Can't believe how many they're getting involved in this. What do they think they're going to get with this independence of theirs? They've never run their own government."_

"_Hmm." The man touching Alfred frowned. "War is ugly business." He leaned closer, barely hearing his companion's words. "He would've been a good kid."_

Alfred looked into the green eyes of his killer, and he realized he was no longer dreaming.

Edward watched him silently, and his eyes widened slightly when Alfred opened his mouth and choked.

"What's-"

"You shot me." Alfred blinked. "You killed me."

Edward turned his head away from Alfred, down at the pillow where he could think.

"You were there for the Revolution," Alfred continued, forgetting to breathe while he tried to get everything out. "You shot me."

Edward looked back at Alfred with wide eyes. He moved his lips a few times and tried to find a way to speak. "Oh," he finally came up with. He swallowed. "Then I suppose your name isn't William."

Alfred shook his head and Edward shut his eyes.

"Well then. I suppose I should tell you, my real name's Arthur."


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred buried his head under his pillow. Arthur had waited for some kind of response but when Alfred hid himself, he sighed and sat up.

"Do you have a name?"

Alfred mumbled something into the mattress and Arthur frowned.

"What?"

"Gimme a minute." Alfred pulled the pillow off his head and turned his head to peek up at Arthur. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He cleared his throat. "I'm uh… This is a lot."

Arthur nodded.

"You killed me."

Arthur shrugged. "I don't remember that."

Alfred ignored him. "You're immortal."

"So are you."

Alfred shut his eyes and pulled the pillow back over his head. He blew out his lips and thumped his hand on the mattress. "Are we supposed to do something? I mean… We're immortal. Are we supposed to join some kind of club? Be best buds?"

"I don't have an answer for that." Arthur lay back down and pulled his pillow closer.

"So we sleep on it?" Alfred shifted enough to check the time on the clock. It was barely past one in the morning.

"Sounds like the best course of action right now." Arthur took a breath. "So… good night."

* * *

><p>"<em>Isn't this exciting?"<em>

_Alfred turned the page of his comic book. He had long figured out how to tune out the security detail and the various political figures he always found himself with, and that moment was no different. It was something about national parks or a recovering economy, or something like that. He could only remember so much considering people were always tossing stupid ideas and stories around. "Yup," he said when he realized the president was waiting for an answer. He turned another page. _

"_This is history being made," the president told him. _

_Alfred hummed a response and turned another page. He couldn't count how many times he had heard the same thing before. He was always watching history being made; he was a part of history, _everyone_ was a part of history. _

_He just lived long enough to see the results. While mortals looked forward to the unknown future with anticipation and excitement, Alfred found that he was bored with it. He would see the future that no one else would. He would live while everyone else died. _

_Alfred knew that he would see the future. He didn't have to worry about dying early, didn't have to dream about what it would be because his life would be too short to see inventions and projects through to their completions. _

_He would see everything in the end. Why worry about the present?_

* * *

><p>"I don't remember you." Arthur pulled on his trousers and zipped the fly. He looked towards Alfred and shrugged when he saw his frown. "I've killed a lot of people. I can't remember all of them. I'm sure it's the same with you."<p>

"Nope. Totally different."

Arthur looked at Alfred and shook his head. "I'm sorry for you."

"I don't need pity."

"I'm not about to give it." Arthur stopped speaking when there was a knock on the door. He walked over and opened it before the woman outside could say a word. "Thank you." Arthur took the tray of food from her and shut the door.

"When'd you order room service?" Alfred pushed aside the blankets and stood up.

"Get dressed first." Arthur set the tray on the small table by the window and Alfred looked around for his underwear. "I called while you were sleeping."

Alfred found his underwear by the door and pulled them on.

"Your jeans are under the bed."

"Thanks." Alfred grabbed them and walked over to the table. Arthur had already sat down, so Alfred took the seat across from him. He pretended not to notice how Arthur looked disapprovingly at his underwear.

Arthur didn't wait any longer to jump right into the conversation they had been putting aside since the early morning. "When were you changed?"

"Changed?"

"When did you become immortal?" Arthur lifted the cover from the tray in front of him and prodded at the eggs with a fork while Alfred sat silently. Arthur didn't look at him when he grabbed a forkful and started to eat, and Alfred took a breath.

"I don't really remember." Alfred took his own fork and pulled his plate closer. "I just woke up one day. I don't remember becoming…" Alfred shrugged and grabbed a biscuit. He crammed it into his mouth and chewed slowly so that he wouldn't have to say anymore.

"That's too bad." Arthur set down his fork and reached for the cup of tea still on the tray. "I'd always wondered if there were more like me. Now that there is…" Arthur narrowed his eyes at Alfred thoughtfully. "I wonder how they did it."

Alfred swallowed half of the roll and spoke through the rest that still filled his mouth. "No one should know."

Arthur sipped his tea and nodded. "You're right. It's enough that _we_ exist. No one else should be in this position." Arthur set his cup down and reached for a muffin. "You should hurry. If they're anything like mine, I imagine your guards will be eager to hunt you down if we don't finish quickly."

"We've gotten out twice, we can meet again." Alfred shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth and Arthur shook his head.

"The representatives from England leave tonight. We won't see each other again."

"What about the next meeting? We can meet then."

"We only have one day overnight."

"We can make it work. I'll drop you a cell phone. We're gonna be in Germany. There's this department store by the conference center. I can drop a cell phone under one of the tables on the bottom floor." Alfred brushed his hands off on a napkin. "Table nine, how's that? I'll drop it under table nine, and I'll call you on it."

"I can do that, but I wonder why it's so important."

"Well, we can't talk a lot now. And there're some things I can't think of."

"That works for me." Arthur picked his cup back up again. "Is there anything you want to ask before next time?"

"Are you really a redhead?" Alfred blurted. Arthur blinked, and Alfred continued. "I can't remember that well, but I didn't think-"

"I'm blond."

"-you weren't red when you killed me," Alfred finished lamely.

"They didn't have dye back then." Arthur pointed at Arthur's hair. "And what color is yours?"

"Blond."

Arthur nodded and checked the digital clock on the stand by the bed. "You might want to hurry and finish. It's almost seven."

* * *

><p><em>Alfred tossed a log into the fire pit and watched the sparks fly up and scatter in the air. It was almost dark.<em>

_A clicking sound alerted him to the chipmunk that was peering inside the tent behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to smile at the small animal. It scratched at the zipper and he shooed it away. It scampered through the trees and past a nearby camper, where a man in khaki shorts and a t-shirt was staring at him._

_It would be nice if the government at least pretended they didn't follow him everywhere. They always stood out. When he camped, they drove giant RVs and parked in the lots around his tent. When he went hiking, they had their shoulder holsters on under their new brand name sweaters. When he went to the store, they followed closely to make sure he didn't get in trouble._

_Alfred left the fire and went back to his truck to dig through the cooler in back. He found a package of hotdogs and took them back to the fire. He tore open the plastic and ignored how the agent stared at him._

_Alfred picked up a stick he had found and sharpened earlier and stuck it lengthwise through the hotdog. He held it over the fire and tried to think of things he could do without the agents getting on his nerves. If he went kayaking, they would find a motorboat to follow him in. He could go fishing—they could only stare, which was creepy, but then they were always creepy (especially when he wanted to go swimming)._

_Alfred could always try to outrun them on the nearby hiking trails. It was always funny to see them try to catch him when he was serious about losing them. A lot of times they'd get annoyed for his random attempts to lose them, but he always laughed them off. He always claimed that he was simply trying to keep in shape with a twelve mile run through the woods._

_They probably didn't believe him, but it didn't matter in the end. They still found him, and he was still stuck with his guards._

* * *

><p>Alfred stared at the cell phone in his hand. He wanted nothing more than to feel it buzzing in his hand when Arthur called him. He was desperate to see him again, desperate to have more answers.<p>

He hadn't thought that being away would be so lonely, but when he had returned home from Switzerland, he had found that his existence really wasn't anything special. He didn't speak with many people because his guards were paranoid about him releasing national secrets, and his break from duties (and his separation from the only person like him) really put his solitude into perspective.

Alfred had explored the department store cheerfully, grabbing snacks and sodas for his hotel room. His guards followed at a distance, and Alfred had been able to sneak a couple cell phones into his basket without them noticing.

Alfred had gone to the restaurant on the lowest floor to grab something to eat, and he had sat at the table with nine on it. His guards had sat down two tables behind him, and he was able to program the cell phones without them noticing. Before he left, he simply slid one under the seat cushion.

Alfred jumped when the phone rang. He pressed the green answer button and pressed it to his ear.

"Yeah?"

"Where are you?"

Alfred tried not to let his excitement be heard. "On the other side of the city, there's an inn. _Bach_-something."

"Room number?"

"Two."

"Be right there."

Alfred looked at the phone after Arthur hung up, and he wondered if he should keep it. For security purposes, destroying it was his best bet. However, if Arthur needed to call him for directions then tossing it would be a stupid idea.

Alfred dwelt on the thought for the entire forty minutes it took Arthur to get there. Arthur knocked only once before Alfred crossed the room to open the door, and he had barely passed through the door before he noticed the phone in Alfred's hand. He took it and dropped it on the floor before crushing it under his foot.

"So, did you think of more questions?" Arthur set his bag down and removed his jacket. Water dripped from his hair and Alfred looked towards the window. Had he not closed the window, he probably would have realized it was raining out. That would explain why it had taken so long for Arthur to arrive, if he had been trying to stay dry.

"I've got a few." Alfred took Arthur's jacket to hang in the small closet.

"Good." Arthur slipped out of his shoes then took his bag to the table by the curtained window. "It's always nice to have something to talk about."

"Yeah." Alfred pushed the remains of the cell phone aside with his toe. "Can we… Well, last time we talked we had _y'know_ first. This time can we talk more first?"

Arthur nodded and opened his bag. He pulled out a large bottle and placed it on the table. He motioned for Alfred to sit across from him. "There're usually a couple cups in an icebox," Arthur started, but Alfred had already grabbed them and sat down across from him.

"What're we drinking?"

"Something I've held onto for a long time." Arthur popped the cork and took one of the plastic cups. He filled it halfway and then traded it for the empty cup. "I've always waited for a special occasion, and it seems I finally have one." Arthur poured some into the empty cup and Alfred took the one on the table. "Sadly I can't think of a toast." Arthur set the bottle down and raised the cup to his lips, but Alfred grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"To us," Alfred offered.

Arthur paused for a moment, then he nodded and lowered his cup. He tapped it against Alfred's. "To us."

Alfred drank all of it in one gulp and Arthur laughed.

"You should learn to be patient."

"Why?" Alfred set his cup down and Arthur filled it.

"Enjoy it more. This is the only one in existence, as far as I know. We won't be getting more in the future." Arthur took a sip from his cup and sighed contentedly. "So. I guess we should start our little question and answer session."

Alfred leaned forward without hesitation. "When did they find you?"

Arthur cocked an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Your government." Alfred felt the answer was a little lacking and added a "duh."

Arthur snorted and leaned back in his chair. "That's a good question," he started, "I'm stealing it from you later." Arthur took another sip from his cup and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "It was during a war," he remembered. "I can't remember how old I was, but my physical body was still young. _Something_ had happened to me. I almost think it was a stray arrow, but I don't even know if we _had_ arrows back then." Arthur narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips while he thought. "A woman found me lying in a forest and took me to her house. I'm sure she thought she nursed me back to health, though you and I both know that's not true."

Arthur poured himself some more to top off his cup. "To make a long story short, I decided to stay and see what a "real" family could offer. My physical growth was slow, but luckily she didn't notice. I was only with her for a few years before soldiers attacked the house. She was killed, I—of course—lived, and since then I've had the honor of living with the royal families and being passed between government offices." Arthur placed his cup down on the table. "Now, same question for you."

Alfred didn't hesitate. He had been sure that Arthur would want to throw the same question back at him, and he had already thought back and planned his response.

"The Revolution." Alfred leaned on the table and crossed his arms. "It was before you killed me. I was shot in the field and got back up, so they put me in a few more battles before they handed me over to Washington."

"Washington?"

"George." Alfred's mouth tilted up into a small smile. "He was great. He had some issues, but who doesn't? I miss him sometimes."

"He was a good man," Arthur muttered. "I never met him, but he seemed very levelheaded."

"He was. Nicest guy I ever met." Alfred grinned and looked at the window. He peeked through the crack in the curtains at the streets below that were darkened by rain. "One of my names is Jacob Washington. I'd go for George, but I think I'd stick out a lot with that." Alfred laughed.

Arthur smiled hesitantly. "If you like his name so much, why do you stick with Alfred?"

Alfred shrugged. "I've always been Alfred Jones. It's on all my real documents, too."

Arthur's eyes widened slightly. "You told the government that name?"

"You mean you didn't tell yours that you're Arthur?" Alfred turned away from the window to look curiously at Arthur.

"Of course not!" Arthur looked repulsed by the very idea. "My name is my own, and they can't take it from me! I gave them some stupid name like Phillip."

"Oh." Alfred sighed. "Guess I was a bit stupid back then."

"I have always been more paranoid than most, so don't feel bad." Arthur reached down for his bag. "I brought some sandwiches if you'd like. I was hoping we'd be doing more talking than anything else."

Alfred grinned and reached for one of the sandwiches that Arthur returned with. "We should do this every meeting."

"Yes." Arthur chuckled. "We should."

* * *

><p>"<em>Alfred, if you get hurt in the future, can you try not to scare Martha?"<em>

_Alfred stiffened and stopped moving. He had been on his way to the gardens behind the house, but Washington's voice had stopped him in his tracks. _

"_Sorry, sir," Alfred muttered when he looked back, but Washington frowned at him._

"_There's no need for "sir." You know that." Washington sat down in a chair by the door and exhaled. "But honestly, Alfred. I thought Martha was going to faint! What on earth did you do to your hand?"_

_Alfred grinned sheepishly. "It got caught up in a plow. But it's all better now!"_

"_I know it's better," Washington grumbled, "I can see it! But Alfred, be more careful in the future. And if you get hurt, come to me at least. Martha hasn't quite gotten used to the idea of… you."_

_Alfred nodded quickly. "I'll remember that."_

"_I'm not like those bastards that kept you fighting, and I hope I don't have to keep reminding you of that." Washington groaned and pushed himself to his feet. He slapped his hand on Alfred's shoulder and held onto him. "You deserve much better than that."_

* * *

><p>"You're not going to the next conference."<p>

Alfred looked up from the wooden flooring he was putting down in his kitchen to see one of the president's secret service agents standing in the doorway. He was a creepy guy who always wore glasses to hide his eyes. Alfred had only seen them off once—his eyes were grey (_sniper eyes_), and there was a scar above his left eyebrow. The scar made him look more intimidating than his bulky six-foot-seven frame already did. He was the perfect guy to protect the president.

He was also Alfred's babysitter when there was bad news.

"What's up? Someone suspicious again? Do I need a new name?" Alfred set the wooden plank in his hand down on the floor.

"Your guards informed us that you ditched them in Germany. And in Switzerland." The agent pressed his index finger against his glasses to adjust them. "Quite a few times, in fact. This is an issue."

"I wanted a burger." Alfred shrugged and picked up the plank to set in with the others already in place. "They're annoying."

"Who was the man you met?"

Alfred stiffened and the agent shook his head.

"You know better. You're under house arrest until we decide on a course of action."

Alfred finally noticed the case by the agent's feet, and he swallowed. "Is that necessary? It's not like I can go out with anyone anyway."

"You've never been under house arrest before. The president feels that you need to experience some hardships in order to respect the freedoms and advantages that you have been given." The agent knelt down and opened the case to reveal a black strap with a small plastic box attached to it. "If you try to remove this, we'll know." He looked up. "Give me your leg."

* * *

><p>Alfred stared through his bedroom window at the streets outside. He had hoped that the bracelet would be the extent of his punishment, but he could see the agents' cars parked down the street (three of the houses in his neighborhood were occupied by agents, but more had moved in since his house arrest had begun). One car had a couple agents sitting within, and one of them looked up at his window and grinned.<p>

Alfred gave him the finger, but he only laughed.

Alfred knew there had to be a way out.

* * *

><p>The first time Alfred slipped out of the alarm, they were in the house before he had put the scissors down. He had smiled and shrugged, but no one was amused. They sat with him while the new alarm was on the way, and Alfred's attempts to lighten the mood failed. He wondered aloud if he would be able to get a burger delivered, and was shocked into silence by the open hostility he received. He had been punished before, but he had never been treated with glares and demands to "shut up and sit down."<p>

The second time, he moved faster and had almost reached the nearest McDonald's when they collected him. They took him home and retrieved another alarm, ordering him to behave "or else."

The third time, they put him in solitary confinement.

* * *

><p><em>Alfred sat alone at the dining table. His glass of water was untouched, and he stared down at the surface.<em>

_Washington had been great. Better than great. Alfred had enjoyed the time spent with him, when he was able to freely roam about without fear of getting into unwanted fights or hiding himself._

_He could already see that things were going to change far more than he had ever feared. He could see the greed around him, and could see the truth behind the words of those who wanted to grab onto the power that Washington had once held for the people._

_They didn't care. They could pretend to care, but Alfred could see through them. Things that Washington had always warned about were coming to pass, and the country was dividing itself. _

_Alfred had put too much faith in the words of one man._

_Mortals were just that: mortal. They could say pretty words and promise great things, but like them, their words would eventually die._

_Alfred never would._

* * *

><p>Alfred was alone for almost two weeks before he received a visitor. The president stepped around the magazines and food wrappers on the floor and stood above Alfred. He cleared his throat, but Alfred didn't look up from his book.<p>

"Alfred."

Alfred turned the page.

"Alfred!"

Alfred grunted but kept reading.

"I'd think that you'd want to talk after two weeks!"

"I've been without human interaction for so long," Alfred droned, "I've forgotten how to communicate."

The president tore the book from Alfred's hands. "Stop being a child!"

"Stop being an asshole," Alfred shot back.

The president's face tensed and he flushed red with anger. "I don't know what you're hoping to accomplish, but you're not getting what you want. You have duties just like the rest of us. You have secrets that can't afford to be told."

"I never asked to be your dog," Alfred pointed out. "I never asked to be _anyone's_ dog."

"But you have these responsibilities, and they're nothing you can do about it." The president dropped the book on the floor and sighed. "You'll remember soon enough."

The door slammed behind the president when he left. Alfred waited a moment before he picked the book up and flipped through to find where he had left off. His fingers trembled.

Nine more weeks passed before he was released.

* * *

><p>They gave him more guards.<p>

Alfred had a personal guard as well. The guy played a new group member (the teenager was gone), and he followed Alfred everywhere. They shared a room so Alfred couldn't just lease, and Alfred was monitored at all times.

They had tagged him before he left the states, much like a dog. They claimed it was in case something happened to him, so that they could identify his body. It was a cute story, except they all knew it was to track him.

While the government wasn't able to implant actual GPS locaters, the chip inside him acted almost like an alarm. If he tried to get on a plane without paperwork, he would be detained. Metal detectors would pick it up. Government scanners would be able to find him. All they had to do was aim a handheld scanner at his shoulder and they would be able to find out whether he had a chip or not. It made it easy to keep him from donning disguises in public when all they had to do was scan people passing by, or set the scanner to at least look for any of the small amount of radiation that the chip gave off. When they found the chip's presence in an area, then they could start scanning people.

It was confusing, but the new guard that had inserted himself into the group—Steven—made sure Alfred knew everything. He made sure Alfred knew exactly what he was getting into, and he emphasized how hopeless he should be.

Alfred knew that he was screwed. He had lost a means of escape and that meant no Arthur. It meant that he was isolated again, even though everyone seemed to think that keeping him in public made it better.

It sucked more being in public. He could see what he wanted, _who_ he wanted, but he was unable to get to him.

Alfred at least took comfort in the fact that he wasn't under hotel room arrest. He could still leave, go out to eat, whatever he wanted that didn't include talking to people that weren't Steven. He actually managed to find his way to a local diner to grab a burger when they went to the next meeting in Spain, and Steven sat a table away instead of right across from him.

Alfred was taking a bite from his burger when he saw Arthur standing outside the large window that faced the street, and it took him everything he had not to choke.

Arthur held up two fingers and pointed past Alfred, then he was gone.

Alfred finished his burger and tried to pretend that his heart wasn't pounding in his chest. Arthur had probably been pointing at the bathroom behind him. He wiped his hands on a napkin and left his table to go inside.

There were three stalls in the bathroom, and Alfred stepped into the center one. There was a window above the toilet that had been opened, and Alfred was sure he could just fit through it. He shut the stall door behind him, and then he heard Steven walk in the bathroom.

It was stupid. They couldn't do anything to him. He was immortal. Putting him in solitary was like a slap on the wrist. It didn't hurt him, and while a weaker minded person would give in to the isolation, Alfred wasn't like that. He became more determined every day.

They could lock him up as many times as they wanted, but they wouldn't stop his "misbehaving." They would only encourage it.

Alfred stood facing the toilet and undid his zipper. He waited until Steven had moved into the stall next to him, and then he carefully reached for the window frame.

Steven should have heard his heart racing. Steven should have known. Alfred was sure he _did_ know, and it terrified him. He almost didn't go through with it, except that cold hands grabbed his wrists. He swallowed and stepped up onto the toilet seat before he pushed himself through the window and almost landed on top of Arthur.

Arthur didn't waste any time. He pulled Alfred to his feet and started running.

* * *

><p>Alfred dropped onto the bed in the motel room and sighed loudly. Arthur checked the locks on the door and looked out the peep hole to ensure that no one was outside. He hung his jacket up on the door and looked back to the bed.<p>

"Rough night?" Arthur asked.

"Month," Alfred corrected. "Rough month."

Arthur clucked his tongue and sat down beside Alfred. "Poor thing. What happened?" He placed his hand on Alfred's shoulder.

"Solitary confinement."

That wasn't what Arthur had expected. He recoiled and pulled his hand away in shock.

Alfred smiled bitterly at him.

"They put you in prison?"

"It's okay now," Alfred assured him, but Arthur wasn't going to listen.

"It's not okay. Why the hell did they put you in prison?" Arthur turned to face Alfred and grabbed his shoulders. When Alfred hesitated, Arthur squeezed. "_Alfred._"

"They know I was ditching them to see you and got mad."

Arthur tensed. "Do they know?"

"They don't know what you are. They just know you hang out with the crowd from England."

Arthur looked only slightly more at ease. "How long were you there?"

Alfred would have like, but he knew from Arthur's expression that he wouldn't be fooled. "Eleven weeks."

Arthur didn't say anything. He simply let his hands slide down from Alfred's shoulders to his waist, then he pushed Alfred back on the bed so he could lie on top of him.

Alfred wrapped his arms loosely around Arthur and pressed his chin against Arthur's forehead. "It's alright, Arthur," he mumbled, "really."

Arthur didn't move.

* * *

><p>"If we run, they can't find us."<p>

Alfred turned his head to face Arthur. Arthur was staring at the closed window curtains, away from Alfred.

"What're you talking about?" Alfred asked.

Arthur sighed. "We don't lose them anything. I think we should run."

"We'll get pretty damn far when we run out of cash and they freeze our accounts."

Arthur shifted to look at Alfred in surprise. "You don't have a secret account?"

Alfred blinked. "You do?"

"I've been alive for over a thousand years. I had to do something with the riches I've come across."

"_Riches_?" Alfred frowned. "You're really showing your age."

"Hush." Arthur placed a finger to Alfred's lips and narrowed his eyes. "We're getting off topic. Alfred, we can leave now. We can't let them get you back."

"Arthur, I'm fine-"

"Solitude isn't good for anyone, mortal or not." Arthur grabbed Alfred's arm. "Alfred, do you want to come with me, or do you really want to go back to them?"

Alfred carefully pulled his arm from Arthur's grip and used his other hand to touch his own shoulder. "The chi-"

"Cut it out." Arthur took Alfred's hand. "It'll hurt like hell, but it'll heal. Alfred, we can do this. You just have to say the word."

Alfred still hesitated, but that was likely from fear, and the idea that it might not work. "I want to go with you."

Arthur nodded and tightened his grip on Alfred's hand. "Then we'll go."

* * *

><p>"So what's your name?" Alfred looked over the sunglass stand at Arthur. Arthur had found some dye to change his hair from the dark red to blond, while Alfred had decided to try out a dark brown. They stood in the airport terminal, looking through sunglasses and books to amuse themselves until their plane was ready to depart.<p>

Arthur looked up from the book he had picked up from a shelf and frowned. He looked around to be sure no one was nearby before he responded. "Arthur Kirkland. You know that."

"Just making sure."

Arthur narrowed his eyes and reached in his pocket for money. Alfred tried on a pair of aviators and grinned.

"Why would I change it? No one knows it. In fact, I should be asking you what _your_ name is." Arthur motioned to the passport that was sticking out of Alfred's jacket. "You're the one that has a name to worry about."

"I picked an awesome one!" Alfred informed him. He pulled out his passport and opened it for Arthur to look.

Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Interesting choice."

"I like it. Has a nice ring to it."

"I'm sure."

Alfred waited while Arthur paid for the book and his sunglasses, and then he walked out of the store with him. He stopped in his tracks and Arthur almost ran into him.

"What?" Arthur touched his arm. "Does your shoulder hurt? It should be healed by no-"

"It's fine," Alfred said quickly. He continued walking. "I just… Jeeze. Thought I saw myself walk by or something." He laughed and Arthur slapped his arm. "Ow."

"Serves you right." Arthur checked his watch. "Now hurry up or we're going to miss our flight, Mr. Kirkland."

"Yeah yeah," Alfred grumbled, but he grabbed Arthur by the shoulder and hurried him along. "Don't get your panties in a knot."

"That's honestly impossible," Arthur retorted.

Alfred snorted. "Pervert."

"I wouldn't talk if I were you." Arthur pulled his boarding pass from his pocket. "Now shut up. There are children around."

"Whatever you say." Alfred quickly pressed his lips to Arthur's cheek, then they passed under the sign that said "MONTREAL" to board their flight.

* * *

><p>"<em>I don't see what's so special about this place." Arthur walked past the men that were trying to pull everything from the boats to take to the nearby village. "England is better."<em>

"_England needs resources, and the New World gives them to us," one of the men said. Arthur ignored him and continued walking towards the forest. He would have taken one of the horses, except they were all being used to move supplies._

_Arthur had only been to the New World a handful of times, not nearly enough to remember exactly where the trails headed. He wasn't sure where he had missed the path, but it wasn't long at all before he found himself in a small field without a building in sight. _

_Arthur sighed and pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead. He didn't envy having to backtrack, even if it was just because people would guess he'd taken a wrong turn somewhere. It was rather shameful to get lost so easily._

_He had just turned around to re-enter the forest when there was a cry and a groan. He stopped and looked over his shoulder for the source, but he couldn't see anything. He waited a moment before continuing to the forest, but another cry made him give up on the forest in favor of finding out what the source of the noise was. _

_It didn't take Arthur long to cross the field and stumble upon a small stream. Beside the stream was a young child. Arthur stared at the child in shock, then quickly knelt to check the bruises on the child's face and hands. The boy stared at him with wide blue eyes and cried out, and Arthur lifted him into his arms._

_He didn't know what to do. The child wasn't someone he could care for, and he wasn't in a position where he could do anything with him. He would have to give him to one of the families._

_Arthur wasn't sure why he even cared. It may have been a distant memory, from a time when a lone woman pulled him from pain and solitude to care for him and give him a name, but his actions defied his beliefs. He didn't care about humans, as inferior a race as they were. However, he couldn't just ignore a child that had clung to him, fingers clenching his shirt and face pressing against his chest. _

_He echoed words he had heard centuries before, not knowing why he did it. He would be rid of the child soon enough. "You can live on—happily—as Alfred."_

* * *

><p>Thanks for the comments, guys! Hope you enjoyed it. I'm not sure if I'll add a couple oneshots to this down the line, but for now it's complete. Now for some author notes.<p>

Alfred _did_ take Arthur's last name and kept his first. If it wasn't clear, Alfred saw Matthew at the end of the fic. 

Also, for the sake of accuracy, _The Maine_ probably wasn't attacked. It's been looked through quite a few times, and they're sure that there was a flame/spark on the ship that ignited the ammunition (or whatever) and resulted in the ship sinking. At the time, the media really pushed to blame the Cubans despite the military's attempts to get them to calm down, and a lot of anti-Cuban sentiment kinda resulted.

I may revisit this au in the future, but people are welcome to ask questions. I'll answer everything that comes my way, and if people have suggestions/ideas for what they might want to see in any additions to the AU, I'll gladly look into them. Just keep in mind that it will be at least 5-6 months before this au would be continued (if at all).

Thanks for reading!_  
><em>


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